Vol. 143, No. 4
THE YALE
Nov. 17, 2014
RECORD
how to make slice of ham
Dinner Recipes for One By Lisa O’WhyGodWhy, About.com Spinster So you’ve found yourself alone and disgusting on a Friday night again? We’ve all been there. Brad won’t return your calls and your mom keeps offering to bring over some of last night’s turkey pot pie even though she knows your stance on cubed meats. But being lonely and utterly rejected is no excuse to simply give up and order an entire pizza to be eaten slice-byslice while you marathon season four of Gilmore Girls. Even you can master the art of la cuisine pour une, you unlovable troll! Here are some simple recipes that put the “fun” in “something is fundamentally wrong with you”:
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Tofu Stir Fry Meat can be expensive when you’re living alone with a dead-end job and an ex-boyfriend who keeps Firm tofu, pressed asking for bail money. Spice up dinnertime with an Leftover rice, white or brown exotic rice dish that requires minimal prep! This Shredded carrots tastes even better when made with rice left over Sriracha sauce from the Chinese food you ordered on Tuesday with the hope that you could “accidentally” touch the hand of the delivery boy. Ingredients
A single slice of ham Ingredients A single slice of ham
Sometimes, when 6 PM rolls around, you realize that you haven’t been to the store in weeks, let alone changed out of your Hello Kitty pajamas. All that’s left in the fridge is a jar of minced garlic and a single slice of ham in a Ziploc bag. You don’t even like ham all that much, so you aren’t entirely sure how it got into your fridge, but you’ll eat it anyways, to try to fill the empty feeling in your heart.
Filet mignon wrapped with bacon and arsenic Go ahead and splurge on this one, you’re worth it! So what if you saw Brad, the love of your young 6 oz. of locally raised, grass- and so unfulfilled life, flirting it up with Jessica, you fed beef know, the one with the weird mole? He doesn’t know One strip of bacon what he’s missing. But he will. Soon. Pair your steak 1.0 g of low-calorie arsenic with a nice, full-bodied red (just like Brad did), and Salt and pepper, to taste put on some Fiona Apple, because without Brad, what do you have to live for, really? Ingredients
Comments Brad Ng
I really dodged a bullet when I dumped you, Lisa. Great recipes though! The ham was delicious. Becky really enjoyed it. Becky is my new girlfriend. Becky doesn’t write for a pathetic website that peaked in 2003.
Writing: R. Lackner | Design: D. Hoogstraten
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The Yale Record CULINARY ISSUE
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Mailbags & Snews
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Editorial................... S. Stern
10
Shorts
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Features.................... Staff & Contributors COMMONS TO SERVE ONLY BEDTIME SNACK
B Rudeen
YALE ENACTS NEW ANTI-SPOON-THEFT POLICIES
A. Corcoran
GIRL STOPS INSTAGRAMMING FOOD FOR A WEEK, STARVES
L. Cone
LOCAL HIGH-END RESTAURANT TO START SERVING EMPTY DISHES
M. Harris
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A RECIPE FOR DISASTER
T. McCoy
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WHAT’S YOUR KITCHEN PERSONALITY
E. Campbell-Taylor
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THE OFFICIAL YALE DINING RECIPE BOOK
Staff
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YALE NUTRITION FACTS
G. Smilow
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CALHOUN CHANGES NAME TO RICHARD B. CHENEY COLLEGE TO TOTALLY GET AWAY FROM ITS DOUCHEBAG BRAND Dear sugary breakfast cereal, Thank you for making me hate my children even more. Best, A bad mom Dear Disney, With your latest number from Frozen, you’ve crossed the line. I can’t handle your music, from “Bare Necessities” to “Under The Sea”, now to “Let It Go.” —A man suffering from incontinence
‘12 YEARS A SLAVE’ WINS ACADEMY AWARD, CHINESE ZODIAC HORSE FINALLY GETS VALIDATION
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Shorts
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Mailbags & Snews
Dear stain on my pants, Come on, man. You are making me look like a fool in front of Debby. She was loving my story about the Battle of Agincourt until she saw you lounging on my upper thigh. I tried to save the moment by reciting Goethe and playing the recorder at the same time, but it was useless. I think you ruined something magical. —A man who is blind to his own red flags
JAMES FRANCO DECLARES MAJOR IN MINORS Dear predator drones, I know you’re watching me, I know you’re hovering around, and I know you’re frightfully good at delivering death from above. But, gosh, for once could you leave me alone? I just want to play outside. —Susie, who’s allergic to bees, and also is a terrorist
Dear hooting tar, I’m sorry I stole your s’s, but both of our names are lot funnier like this. —An assstronomer
INTERESTED MAN NODS HEAD Dear Mom, I don’t feel so good. I think I might have Ebola. —Frank, whose gastric fluid is slowly leaking out of his ears Dear Frank, No, that’s actually normal for kids who don’t finish their casserole. You ungrateful little shit. —Frank’s mom
NEW POKÉMON GAME FAILS TO DISTRACT NOSTALGIC ADULTS FROM THEIR INEXORABLE MARCH TOWARDS DEATH
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“A Treat for the senses” —Hartford Courant “Amid elegance, a variety of Indian dishes” —New York Times Hours Lunch Monday - Saturday: 11:30 AM - 2:30 PM Sunday: 12:00 PM - 3:00 PM
MAN UPDATES LINKEDIN TO INCLUDE PROFICIENCY IN MICROSOFT WORD, GETS SNATCHED UP BY GOOGLE
Dinner Sunday - Thursday: 5:00 PM - 10:00 PM Friday - Saturday: 5:00 PM - 10:30 PM
Dear Dean Jonathan Holloway, So they say you go by “Dr. J.” But have you tried “J. Ho”? —Peter Salovey
Every Day Lunch Buffet
Dear President Salovey, You nailed it. So hard in fact that I’ve got one for you, too. As an indispensable friend to Richard Levin, did you ever consider “Dick’s righthand man”? —Dean Holloway
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Dear puddle of grease on the ground, Yes, please. —Keith
Dear precariously placed pudding, This won’t end well.
WINSOME PIANO RIFF IN DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE SONG RESONATES WITH LOCAL MAN
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WORLD’S OLDEST CIVIL WAR VETERAN STILL DEAD, 59 YEARS LATER
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Emmy Waldman ‘11
’ll admit it: I’ve been looking forward to editing the Culinary Issue for quite a while. You see, I love food. And not just normal, everyday, plebeian food—I’m talking about good food. Special food. No, I’m not a “foodie” in the conventional sense. I don’t don a cable-knit sweater, grip a chai latte with both hands, inhale, fill a goblet of rosé, stare at it, Instagram an artfully appointed soufflé, and then waltz off to sleep in my fancy bed du water. I don’t sit in coffee shops for hours on end as a break from sitting in cupcake shops. I don’t pretend food trucks are cute little hidden ethnic treasures— they’re all just slop for the poors. I love food, though, in a far purer, more meaningful way. A romantic way, you might say. You, dear reader, truly can’t understand this love until you’ve pleasured a donut. Until you’ve pounded some pound cake or rolled around with pigs in a blanket. Until you’ve savored the sweet, sweet je ne sais quoi of chicken semen. But I will try to explain this love to you in the simplest way I know how: with an extended anecdote of questionable relevance. It all started one fine winter afternoon in the Record office (305 Crown Street, Room 305, come by! Please.). The editorial board and I were hanging out, just shooting the (proverbial) shit, discussing normal stuff (like the sweet, sweet je ne sais quoi of chicken semen). The weather outside was frightful, but the fire we’d set to the next-door Herald office was so delightful. As I basked in its warmth and glow, an idea suddenly occurred to me. “Hey guys,” I began cautiously. “You know how Commons is closed all the time now?” “Yeah,” Rachel responded. “So what?” “Well, what if we break in…and start our own dining hall!” The staff responded with enthusiasm. “Scott, that seems like a highly questionable idea,” Aaron said, sagely. “And possibly illegal,” Mitchell added, lawyerly. “Wait, though. Just think about it,” I replied, editor-in-chiefly. “We have a unique opportunity to give the people what they want. Yalies are constantly complaining about food. Together, we can bring the supply to the demanding public! Economics! If we succeed,
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we’ll have everyone as happy as Teletubbies in a sea of custard! As happy as Paula Dean in a greasy vat of racism! As happy as Chris Christie in a room with some food!” Everyone cheered. That very instant we set off for Commons, past the dreary, chicken-semen-less dining halls of the residential colleges, past the quivering-block-of-jellowannabe of Beinecke, past the Peabody Museum (we got lost), and finally into the belly of the (proverbial) beast. We walked into an empty, cavernous building. Kitchen equipment and ingredients were scattered everywhere. “Ok, you, grab a spatula!” Nick directed, taking charge. “You, grab a dozen eggs! Let’s go, people!” For the next hour we sautéed and marinated and chiffonaded and learned French. We lovingly crafted conquilles Saint-Jacques and blanquette de Veau and soupe l’oignon. Finally, it was time for the pièce de résistance: chicken grueyere a la Yale Record. Daniel brought out the chickens. So many goddamn chickens. “Ok, slaughterin’ time,” he announced. “Line up.” We all eagerly grabbed our serrated blades and started cheerfully exsanguinating the birds. “Wow, this is fun!” Chris announced. “I agree!” Ben agreed. But it quickly dawned on us that there were too many. There was just no way we could cheerfully exsanguinate them all.
Aaron Gertler ’15 Chairman
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“Oh, no, they’re getting away!” cried Ian, who was by this point weeping uncontrollably. “Corner them!” yelled Natalie, chasing after a particularly feisty one. Then the chickens took their revenge. They let loose. The (proverbial) shit hit the fan. Also the (literal) shit hit the fan. There was chicken shit everywhere. And that’s when I knew I was in love. They were so feisty, so spunky, so spirited. If I learned one thing from the movie “Chicken Run,” it’s that Claymation is a beautiful art form, and also that chickens are people too or something. How could we kill these beautiful creatures!? “Stop!” I screamed. “Let them go! Let them go.” I sobbed with relief as the chickens raced off down Prospect Street, scurrying toward the Yale Farm, or maybe Popeye’s Chicken. From that day forth I vowed to always cherish all foodkind. I would eat only the most processed, least authentic food, in order to avoid harming any one of God’s creatures. I would join Michelle Obama in her acclaimed “Kill the Fatties” venture. I would finish my novel, “Julie & Julia & Juliet: A Love Story.” And I would celebrate the wonders of food by tricking the staff in to creating a whole Culinary Issue for my own private viewing pleasure. —S. Stern Editor-in-Chief
Scott Stern ’15 Editor-in-Chief
Natalie Warren ’17 Art Director
Sasha Rae-Grant ’18 Assistant Design Editor
Sam Savitz ’17 Business Manager
Madeline Kaplan ’17 Managing Editor
Sahil Gupta ’17 Online Editor
Zach Schloss ’15 Publicity Manager
Chris Rudeen ’17 Copy Editor
Nick Goel ’16 Publisher Daniel Hoogstraten ’17 Design Editor
Rachel Lackner ’17 Ethan Campbell-Taylor ’16 Special Projects Director Staff Director
Ian Gonzalez ’16 Managing Editor
Ben Rudeen ’17 Managing Editor
Ben Garfinkel ’16 Supplementals Editor
Mitchell Nobel, LAW ’16 Legal Counsel
Staff Writers, Artists, & Designers:
Contributing Writers, Artists, & Designers:
Max Goldberg ‘17, Mikayla Harris ‘17, Victoria Kim ‘15, Tom McCoy ‘17, Elizabeth Miles ‘17, Isaac Morrier ‘17, Travis Reginal ‘16, Harrison Schneider ‘17, Karen Tian ‘15, Lining Wang ‘15, Madeleine Witt ‘15, Sylvia Zhang ‘15,
John Bentley ‘17, Louisa Cone ‘18, Amanda Corcoran ‘18, Valcy Etienne ‘16, Dan Friedman ‘17, Mitchell Harris ‘16, Chris Homburger ‘16, Archie Kinnane ‘18, John Lancione ‘17, Doo Lee ‘16, Roger Lopez ‘18, Annelisa Leinbach ‘16, Alison Mansfield ‘17, Alejandra Padín-Dujon ‘18, Nolan Phillips ‘18, Alex Ringlein ‘18, Jonathan Rutter ‘18, Natalya Sanghvi ‘18, Griffin Smilow ‘18, Sarah Sukin ‘18, Luchang Wang ‘17, Brandon Wanke ‘17
Special Thanks to: Our fabutastic new assistant design editor, Sasha, all of our glorious alumni, and Chris Christie, because comedy Cover: This month’s cover was designed by the spectacular Annelisa Leinbach ‘16, who officially renounced any ties to the YDN and will devote her life instead to the Record and spoon-fork marriage counseling Founded September 11, 1872 • Vol. CXLIII, No. 4, Published in New Haven, CT by The Yale Record, Inc. Box 204732, New Haven, CT 06520 • yalerecord.com/magazine • Subscriptions: $50/year (print) • $10/year (electronic) All contents copyright 2014 The Yale Record, Inc. The Yale Record is a magazine produced by Yale students; Yale University is not responsible for its contents. Any resemblance to characters and events portrayed herein, without satirical intent, is purely coincidental. The Record grudgingly acknowledges your right to correspond: letters should be addressed to: Chairman, The Yale Record, PO Box 204732, New Haven, CT 06520, or chairman@yalerecord.com. Offer only valid at participating retailers while supplies last. The Yale Record would like to high-five the UOFC for its financial support.
THE SIGNATURE COCKTAIL OF EACH DINING HALL Berkeley: The Snooty Sangria – The alcoholic equivalent of Spa Water, but made with Bordeaux, so they can pretentiously sip it as they look down from their balcony at the plebeians below. Branford: The Neo-Gothic Martini – It’s a vodka martini with olives: a fancy-ass drink to go with their fancy-ass architecture and fancy-ass courtyard. Calhoun: The John C. Mint Julep – To celebrate their proud Southern heritage…wait, no, not that kind of Southern heritage…ah, shit. Davenport: The D-Port – The Port stands for port. The D stands for Dalí. The glass of dessert wine slowly melts in your hand. The sky turns mauve. People’s mouths begin to be replaced by ears. A Georgian pillar rises up on its hind legs. Jonathan Edwards: The JE Sux on the Beach – Vodka, peach schnapps, orange juice, and cranberry juice. But in lieu of an orange, it’s garnished with a $50 bill from their endowment. Morse/Stiles: The Walrus Moose – Like a Moscow Moose (peppermint schnapps and vodka) except mixed in a brick pizza oven. Pierson: The Cheer Beer – A six-pack of beer, all of which must be shotgunned while onlookers sing a rendition of “P is for the P in Pierson College.”
Saybrook: The Morning Routine – A generous helping of brandy mixed into one’s morning coffee, to help dull the pain of living in Saybrook. Silliman: The Safety Drink – No one really knows the contents. Some combination of vodka, gasoline, Mott’s Apple Juice™, and Master Krauss’s tears. Each one comes with a free trip to Yale Health. Recently discontinued, to the chagrin of many. Timothy Dwight: The Whitney Ave. Whiskey Ginger – Made from the whiskey carried by the St. Bernards sent to rescue them in the wilderness. Trumbull: The TrumBULL Matador – A normal Matador consists of tequila, pineapple juice, and lime juice. A TrumBULL Matador consists of tequila, pineapple juice, lime juice, and bull semen. Commons: The Sucky Bomb – A very inauthentic sake bomb, somehow mass-produced in a wok. Slifka: The Shabbat Dinner – Cheap wine, mixed with more cheap wine, mixed with contemplation of a little-known midrash on the Book of Nahum, one of the minor prophets. Hall of Graduate Studies: The Been There, Done That – Whatever the fuck you want to drink, you’re an adult. —S. Savitz
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SECRET, BETTER SAYBROOK DINING HALL DISCOVERED
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t’s official: the Saybrook dining hall that you were once dragged to by an overzealous friend trying to do the “12 College Challenge” is a hoax. While you grumbled your way both into and out of Saybrook, true Saybrugians were laughing at you for not knowing their delicious secret. The real Saybrook dining hall is actually located underground and can only be accessed via a tunnel whose opening is beneath the piano in the common room. That kid who is always inexplicably playing the piano is not actually as pretentious as you thought; in fact, he is in charge of letting only Saybrugians through. If you wander over and compliment his piano playing, he may softly ask, “Say what?” If you respond with the magic word, “Saybrook,” you might be lucky enough to be let inside—so long as no outsiders are watching too closely. The Saybrook kitchen is magically delicious. It never runs out of Lucky Charms, and the cookie dough ice cream container is bottomless. In fact, the entire left wall of the room is made out of individually wrapped chocolate bricks, which requires constant upkeep and is actually
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very unstable. Highlights of the Saybrook dining hall are its Super Waffle Maker Plus, where students who make a waffle can enjoy 2 minutes and 30 seconds of Super Smash Bros while it cooks, and a panini maker that not only assembles the sandwich for you, but also imprints President Salovey’s face in your grilled cheese. Other highlights include a replica of the Eiffel Tower made out of spaghetti and meatballs that students rave as being “unnecessary.” Saybrugians are also often treated to guest performances as they eat. “One of my favorite memories from the Saybrook dining hall was when Master Hudak got up to do a duet with Ke$ha, who had come to perform that night. We all knew he was a piano maestro, but who knew he could bust a rhyme like that?!” said junior Harry Potter. Yeah, Harry Potter chills in Saybrook’s secret dining hall. Harry Fuckin’ Potter—the star of C Hoops Basketball, the pride of Albuquerque. So the next time you head off to your college’s dining hall and can’t seem to find any Saybrugians willing to go with you, know that they are feasting on food more delicious than you can dream of. Take that, Morse and Stiles pizza! —N. Sanghvi and S. Sukin
D. Lee
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DAVENPORT BUTTERY TO ADOPT ALL-BUTTER MENU DAVENPORT COLLEGE – The popular Davenport buttery is embroiled in a controversy of lactic proportions this week following the late-night eatery’s adoption of an all-butter menu. This groundbreaking departure from such buttery staples as mystery meat and avant-garde “sandwiches” comes in the wake of scathing accusations of fraud from the class of 2018. Within the Davenport community, reactions have been generally positive. “It’s all about authenticity,” noted buttery employee Peter White, DC ’16, in a recent email communiqué. “Ideally, we’re looking to provide a diversity of butters that simultaneously reflects the integrity of the college and the bovine literality of the freshman class.” Nevertheless, the buttery’s scheme has met strong opposition outside the Davenport grounds. Spearheading the “Ban Butter Movement” is the Healthy Heart Eaters’ Alliance (HHEA), a rapidly evolving umbrella organization of public health groups, Californians, and heart-devouring cannibals. According to HHEA spokesperson Jill Alpenrose, BK ’15, “We had to skim off a few affiliates early on. When it comes to emotional dairy-intolerant students and their ‘I feel unwelcome’ crap, no one gives a damn, you know?” Added Alpenrose cheerfully, “True aca-
demics listen to cannibals over marginalized minorities any day.” Other key parties to what media outlets nationwide are calling the “Great Butter Controversy” include the Wisconsinite Student Union (WSU) and the Moderately Opinionated Food Oligarchs (MOFO), a centrist organization dedicated to patrician disinterest and shunning dairy-intolerant fringe groups. “We here at MOFO believe in respecting the food allergies of all people,” insisted Secretary General Paul Switzerland, TD ’15. “But intolerance is antithetical to our self-consciously neutral stance on everything. Occasional discomfort is the price of any open society! Why shouldn’t minorities wheeze or vomit every now and then?” As with any highly complex and multifaceted modern dispute, the sheer number of nuanced viewpoints is a source of confusion for many. “I have literally zero idea what is going on,” admitted Politic writer Zeke Adams, CC ’16, while savoring a made-to-order butter milkshake. “But any shitstorm with Paula Deen on one side and Michelle Obama on the other sounds racially charged and totally awesome. Hey, want a sip?”
—A. Padín-Dujon
D. Friedman
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LOCAL FROYO MAFIA BOSS CAPTURED AT LAST NEW HAVEN, CT - Last week the New Haven police arrested local shady Italian dude Agnostino Pugleise, the “godfather” of Connecticut’s storied “froyo mafia” empire. The operation—responsible for the sudden closure of two froyo stores in one week—was crippled. But how did we get here? In the following, I hope to explain this sordid tale. This is the story of the froyo mafia—a confusing, delicious, cutthroat world where sprinkles and Cool Whip aren’t all that they seem. Pugleise didn’t want to end up in the “family business”—he always dreamed of becoming an entrepreneur of Italian ice. But after his high school sweetheart Carlotta Carprezza tragically died when a self-serve froyo machine exploded in May 2008, he knew something was afoul and vowed revenge upon the whole industry. “How’d I do it?” he said to me in this exclusive one-on-one interview. “With my cold bare hands. And also lots of murder. But mostly hard work.” He first targeted Polar Delight, deciding to try to lace the ingredients with cyanide so that the health department had no choice but to close the store down. It was perfect—Pugliese dreamed that people would soon be saying “don’t eat the froyo” instead of “don’t drink the Kool-Aid” or “don’t eat the kittens” and he would earn a special place in American history. But problems occurred when his drug dealer learned of his plans and refused to deal with him anymore. “Froyo and cyanide?” the drug dealer exclaimed the day he rejected Pugliese’s offer. “That’s fucked up! Why would somebody wanna put something so poisony in something so beautiful?” he asked, scooping a hefty serving of Sour Tart into his open mouth. Then the perfect plan came to Pugliese —he would bribe the workers and they would sabotage the place from the inside out. It wasn’t too hard; froyo workers are notoriously greedy motherfuckers. Polar Delight closed within the week. What happened next was almost inexplicable. Pugliese went mad with power and decided to target Pinkberry next. “It was just so easy…,” he said. “It was like taking candy from a diabetic baby.”
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And easy it was, considering Pinkberry’s complete lack of visitors. All he had to do was spread a couple of rumors about rats in the store and the rest, as they say, was his story—a very dark, evil, historical story. Although Pugleise is now in custody, the rest of his gang is unfortunately still at large. “Wherever a child can scoop half a pound of cheesecake bites into a bowl-sized cup,” Pugleise said ominously, “we’ll be there.”
—V. Etienne
A SOMMELIER REVIEWS NATTY LIGHT
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A fellow insulted me by offering me a beer the other day.” “What did you do?” “Swallowed the insult.”
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h, Natural Light. What a fine, sophisticated beer with such a beautiful, pale amber hue. When imbibed, the palette is tickled with notes of year-old hops and stale barley. This medium-bodied beer starts off watery and finishes with a smooth, even more watered-down flavor. One can almost taste the freshmen fifteen when drinking it. The aroma alone conjures up images of regrettable Spring Fling mud-fests and relieving oneself in the parking lot at Tang. When poured from a keg, one can expect anywhere from 60-90 percent foam. This beer, a favorite of fraternity parties and dorm room mini-fridges everywhere, pairs well with nachos, chicken wings, Wenzel’s, beer funnels, a lack of money for nicer beer, burritos, and self-loathing. Best served lukewarm and in a solo cup you found on the ground but didn’t care enough to wash out. —J. Lancione
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Dear Abby, At first I was overjoyed that Starbucks came out with the pumpkin spice latte so early this season. It was hardly the beginning of the school year, and things were looking up for me and my close-knit group of girlfriends: the September days were full of joyful laughter, and the nights were as long and savory as the titular anaconda in “Anaconda.” But as I took my first sip of Starbucks’ annual pumpkin spice beverage, I was hit with an existential comfort that I knew could be found nowhere else. I felt loved in a way no human could love me. And since that moment one month ago, my life has spiraled into a place so dark that only the warm caress of pumpkin spice can make me forget that my existence is now a shambles. Today some friends walked by me with no acknowledgement, as I was hunched over the dark corner table at Starbucks with a warm venti PSL staring up at me. Last season, it wasn’t this bad: at my worst, I shotgunned two lattes for a dare and threw up in the Hungarian philosophy section of the Sterling stacks. But, this year, everything changed. After I had spent all my birthday money on Starbucks gift cards for myself, I began selling the jewelry I inherited from my dead grandmother to make a quick $7.18 to buy my next latte. Even still, I needed more. Stan-Carlo, my barista, started giving me worried looks with how often I came in for my fix, and I became shameful. I panicked when I caught a glimpse of Stan-Carlo’s pink and grey striped hair while walking down the sidewalk—but it was just a dead raccoon. I began to make rounds at all the Starbucks in the area to avoid his hurtful gaze, as my crippling addiction worsened. I started replacing my hookah water with pumpkin spice latte. The only reason I haven’t experienced massive weight gain is because the excess calories have been canceled out by my complete deprivation from most vitamins and nutrients. I knew I had hit rock bottom when one of my best girlfriends walked in on me as I crouched in the Starbucks bathroom, mascara running down my face—I had just finished eating three pumpkin spice scented Yankee candles. “Betch, wait!” I screamed, as she walked away in disgust (I call her Betch but her real name’s Betchanie). Afterwards, she messaged the GroupMe, and explained to all my friends that she “couldn’t even” anymore with me. I was ostracized. My Snapchat has fallen into sad disuse. What is wrong with me? How can I salvage these losses? Signed, Pumpkin Vice Latte —N. Phillips
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A FIGHT BETWEEN A PICKLE AND A HOTDOG
HEY SCOT T,
Hey Scott, I hope you see this when you’re feeling better. I guess it’s been three or four times now that we have been doing this thing where we spend most of the night apart and then you call kind of drunk and come over to pick me up and walk me to your place. It’s been alright, I guess, but I don’t know – have you ever thought it might be fun to maybe, like, do lunch or something? I know this happens to me a lot and I’ve got a reputation at this point, but you seem to like me more than the others. It might be cool to try something other than the drunk Saturday night pickup. Hey, maybe it’ll turn out I’m more than just a hot piece of meat. From, Wenzel PS: I left before you woke up this morning, but your roommate cleaned up the mess.
Hot dog: You think you’re such a big dill, don’t you? Pickle: I don’t want to taco about it. Hot dog: You’re bacon my heart! Pickle: Just beet it, okay? Hot dog: You’re the bratwurst. Do you even carrot about me at all? Pickle: It’s nacho problem, ok? Udon know me or my rice! Hot dog: Bitch, peas… We’ve been a pear for years. Pickle: And you’ve been nothing but taro-ble cabbage. Hot dog: (Sigh) Fine. Let’s… let’s just get berried! We can go to Las Haggis. Pickle: We cantaloupe! This relationship is going too pasta for me. Hot dog: Don’t you know how much olive you? Pickle: Psh… If I had a penne for every thyme I heard that. I don’t give a ham anymore! Hot dog: I donut understand you. Pickle: I just need to be provolone right now. Hot dog: But I still loaf you… Pickle: Well that’s too clam bad. Hot dog: Can I quiche you gouda bye at least? Pickle: No… just… just get away from me, you fat fig! Pickle exits Hot dog: You’re gonna vinaigrette this… —D. Lee
—I. Morrier THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS OF FOOD FOODS THAT MAKE SURPRISINGLY BAD SEX TOYS Bananas Pickles Spring rolls Go-Gurts Hot Pockets Baguettes Cannoli Frogs’ legs Spotted dick Autumn squash salad
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.
Gluttony Gluttony Gluttony Gluttony Lust ;) Gluttony Gluttony
S
—S. Savitz
tern Father: Johnny, what must you do first of all to have your sins forgiven?
—C. Homburger
Johnny: Commit the sins.
NEW HAVEN, CONN ECTICU T ·
MONDAY, NOV. 17, 2014 · V OL. CXXXIV, NO. 4
· yalerecord.com
Commons to serve only bedtime snack BY BEN RUDEEN STAFF REPORTER NEW HAVEN, CT – In a surprise announcement yesterday, Yale Dining revealed that food service will be scaled back even more in the storied dining hall. Starting next semester, Commons will be serving only a bedtime snack. This news comes as no surprise to students who have seen Commons serve less and less food over the last few years. The dining hall, built over 100 years ago as a private dining room for Yale undergraduate and future president William Howard “Large and in Charge” Taft, initially served three square meals a day. Over the last 10 years, however, breakfast and dinner service have ended. Thanks in large part to budget cuts and a thinner, hotter student body, the dining hall cannot afford to serve as much food. Cutting lunch was only the next logical step. “It’s hard running a dining hall as large as Commons,” said Yale Dining spokesman Alfred Granger
ITS LIKE FRIED RICE, BUT BETTER
at a press conference earlier today. “But it just got a lot easier.” Though it will no longer be serving lunch, Commons will be open from 8:00-8:15 at night for
bedtime snacks. The food selection will include lukewarm milk, dayold cookies, and the tears of the workers who were laid off mixed into a new “Salty Spa Water” op-
tion. “I know this is a big change, but we’re excited for it. And to make it more worthwhile for the students, we are including a bedtime story, read by me, using silly voices and everything,” Granger said. Student opinions have been mixed. “Yeah, I’ll miss the fried rice,” said Frannie Doolittle, MC ’16. “I’ll also miss the fried rice,” added Peter Dunn, SM ’15. The future of Commons is still unclear. There are rumors that Yale will rent out the space to the Church of Scientology to use as a séance chamber to call on Xenu. Others say it will stand empty as a monument to the excesses of humanity. “I’ll just miss that thing they did to the rice, how it was all fried and stuff,” said Saybrook College Master Paul Hudak. “What was that called?” Contact BEN RUDEEN at join@yalerecord.com
Yale Enacts New Anti-Spoon-Theft Policies BY AMANDA CORCORAN STAFF REPORTER NEW HAVEN, CT – Yale’s recent quarterly financial report revealed that the university has allocated 80 percent of its existing operating budget to replacing spoons stolen from the dining halls. After reporting losses in the sevenfigures from stolen silverware and fielding numerous complaints from students claiming that they can no longer comfortably eat the “New England” clam chowder, the administration decided it was time to act. “I think our new spoon policy really solidifies Yale’s commitments
to safety and having a shit-ton of spoons,” said President Peter Salovey in a press statement. “We have a vast network of security systems in place, and within each of those systems is another vast network of systems, and then at the bottom of each of those systems are the spoons.” The new budget includes plans to install metal detectors at the entrances to the dining halls and to hire one security guard to supervise the silverware section. Students will now be made to sign out any spoons using their Yale ID. Any student caught with contraband will be referred to the Executive Com-
DON’T FUCK WITH THESE
mittee for further action. For a first offense, students will be automatically enrolled in a blacksmithing course for rehabilitative and metallurgical purposes. For a second offense, expulsion will be mandatory. The remaining 20 percent of
the university’s capital goes towards anti-jaywalking intervention and private counseling for TD students with abandonment issues. Contact AMANDA CORCORAN at join@yalerecord.com
Girl Stops Instagramming Food for a Week, Starves “I used to be able to tell you exactly what was on her bagel every morning, how fresh the vegetables on her salad were at lunch, and the specifics about every ingredient that went into her dinner. Her pictures were so artsy, too. She always knew what filter to use, the best angles...” This source was unable to make further comments.
BY LOUISA CONE STAFF REPORTER NEW HAVEN, CT – It is with great sadness that the sNews reports the tragic passing of fifteenyear-old white girl, Suzy Ann Ambrose. After going eight days without posting a single picture of food on Instagram, she experienced heart failure and starved to death. Although her family was not available to comment, several of Suzy’s friends had thoughts to share on her death. “We went to Starbucks just last week,” classmate Ashley Flynn recalled. “We drank pumpkin spice lattes and ate muffins just like always. I should have known something was up when she didn’t take a picture of it—not even a Snapchat.” Another friend of Suzy’s, Brittany Bright, shared a similar story. “I asked her why she didn’t want to post a picture of her sushi, and she said that she would post it dur-
I asked her why she didn’t SUZY’S LAST INSTAGRAM. #NOFILTER # NONUTRITION
want to post a picture of her sushi... My biggest regret is
ing prime Insta hours. By around 10:00 that night, I knew she wasn’t not taking action right then posting it. My biggest regret is not taking action right then and there.” and there. Suzy’s 712 followers fondly Brittany Bright remember her Instagram for its Friend of Suzy strong caption game and thricedaily culinary posts, making the reason behind her death all the more surprising. “It’s just so Suzy’s death is not the only one sad...” one follower, whose name we were asked to omit, lamented. of its kind, as similar cases have
Local High-End Restaurant to Start Serving Empty Dishes BY MITCHELL HARRIS STAFF REPORTER NEW HAVEN, CT – Hillman’s, a local restaurant known for bold flavors and innovative menus, has decided to try out a daring new move: serving empty dishes. Though many may wonder if tough economic times are spurring such an unusual decision, Hillman’s insists that it is motivated solely by aesthetic and cultural concerns. Bart Peters, head chef, explained, “So many people have such rushed lives that they don’t have time to eat anymore. We want to give people an opportunity to have a nice conversation over a meal without having to actually eat anything.” Besides, he added, “people like to pay more for less food.” The trend towards less actual food on the plate at nicer restaurants has indeed been noticeable for many
HEAD CHEF BART PETERS CAREFULLY REMOVES FOOD FROM A DISH AT HILLMAN’S
years. And this new empty plate promotion has already received rave reviews from food critics. The public, however, has not been as thrilled. Said local cobbler Rahul Singh, “What even…?”
Restaurant officials counter that they make very clear to every customer just what the special entails, and guests order it knowing full well that they won’t be served any food. Peters added that it is also great for
been reported across the nation. Speaking at a school assembly in Suzy’s honor, the principal had some words to share with students about preventing further Instagram-related tragedies:“Don’t let Suzy’s death be in vain. If you notice people eating meals without uploading pictures of them, say something. Take action. Someone can appear to have normal eating habits, but remember that they are not truly eating unless a picture of their food goes on Instagram. Watch out for those around you and you just might save a life.” In lieu of flowers, Suzy’s family has asked that people instead post artsy food pics on Instagram with any of the following hashtags: #foodie, #nom, #foodgasm, #foodporn. Rest in peace, @suzysparklez1998. Contact LOUISA CONE at join@yalerecord.com
dieting clients. “In the past, we’ve seen guests very impressed by quick service,” reported Simon Dash, who has been a waiter at the restaurant for 25 years. “With this new dish, we’ve gotten our timing down to an art form. We know exactly when to clear the first empty plate and bring the next. No more waiting!” The price of the dish, set at $49.99, covers the costs associated with storing clean dishes and bringing the plate to the perfect temperature for the meal. (There is a surcharge of $5 to prepare the dish in a gluten-free kitchen.) As of now, the special is being tested only for cold-plate appetizers and desserts, but if all goes as planned, customers should start to see hot empty plates being served for the main course within the next few weeks. Contact MITCHELL HARRIS at join@yalerecord.com
Writing: T. McCoy | Design: S. Rae-Grant
What’s Your Kitchen Personality Type? THE MYERS-Briggs Type Indicator: let us tell you who you are based on bullshit psychology from 1962. Extraversion (E) Sensing (S) Thinking (T) Judging (J)
ISTJ
The dichotomies
ISFJ
(I) Introversion (N) Intuition (F) Feeling (P) Perception
ISFJ
INTJ
salad spinner
microwave
corkscrew
frying pan
You remain levelheaded even in the most chaotic situations, like when you are filled with wet lettuce and spun rapidly to remove excess water.
You’re a hard worker, but too often you let lazy people take advantage of you by putting a Hotpocket inside of you instead of being adults and cooking for themselves.
Enabler.
You find it easy to stand up for yourself and others since you are made of cast iron and are an effective bludgeoning instrument.
ISTP
ISFP
egg timer
grill
You never miss appointments, There is a fire burning inside of you. which in your case generally consist A fire that people use to cook meat. of screaming really loudly after some amount of time determined by someone else.
ESTP
butter knife You may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but that’s actually preferable for safely spreading things over toasted bread and bagels.
ESTJ
ESFP
garlic press
INFP
INTP
colander
cheese grater
A true free spirit, you can’t hold onto much for long, especially not the boiling water full of pasta that people dump on you as a matter of course.
Some may consider you abrasive at first, but soon change their tune after they rub a block of cheddar against you so they can make nachos.
ENFP
ENTP
Slap Chop
oven mitts
You do your job best under pressure You enjoy slapping and chopping because you know that no matter and have been on TV. You’re how intense things get, you can probably a serial killer. crush cloves of garlic better than just about anyone else.
ESFJ
Kindle containing The deep fat fryer Joy of Cooking and 3GB You can make almost anything of Guy Fieri erotica better, except the health of your
I don’t need to say anything. You friends and oil burns. know what you’ve done.
ENFJ
You take a direct approach to life, picking up skills and hot things with equal comfort and ease. You also really like hands.
ENTJ
refrigerator
muffin tin
Your heart is as cold as the produce you selfishly hoard inside yourself. Where did you keep those secret feelings you were harboring for my brother, the crisper or the vegetable drawer? How could you do this to me? To my family? I thought you would see the light if I could just get you to open up, but you proved me wrong.
You’re sort of, I don’t know, lumpy?
Writing: E. Campbell-Taylor| Design: D. Hoogstraten
Writing: Staff | Art: K. Tian | Design: S. Rae-Grant
Writing: G. Smilow | Design: S. Rae-Grant
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T he Y ale R ecord
HAMBURGER COURT
D. Lee
FOUR VEGETABLES YOU HATED AS A KID THAT DESERVE A SECOND CHANCE, EVEN IF THEY DID MURDER YOUR FAMILY Broccoli With its bitter stalk and oddly textured florets, broccoli gets a bad rap with young children. And you’ll never forget the day that a huge stalk of broccoli led a gang of vegetables into your home and beat your father unconscious with a crowbar. Still, broccoli has its good side; stir fry it with butter and garlic, and you’ll soon be seeing this vegetable in a whole new light! Okra Boiled okra has a reputation for being slimy. And no okra has ever been slimier than the okra that disguised itself as a traveling salesman and tricked your mother into opening the door. Our advice: Rather than holding a grudge against this vegetable, try grilling it at your next barbecue!
Eggplant The tough, rubbery flesh of a ripe eggplant doesn’t seem especially promising. Plus, you wake up in a cold sweat at least once a week after dreaming of the eggplant’s fists slamming into your sister’s face, over and over again. On the other hand, eggplant parmesan is a classic vegetarian main course; why not try to expand your palette? Cabbage You may remember eating cabbage soup as a child – cold, flavorless, cabbage soup. And you’ll never forget the smile on the face of that one particular cabbage as it poured gasoline into your baby brother’s crib while the rest of the gang held you down and made you watch. But, putting that aside, you simply HAVE to try our delicious recipe for stuffed cabbage wraps! —A. Gertler
T he C ulinary I ssue
ALUMINUM CHEF AMERICA Theme song plays.
Announcer: The time has come to once again answer life’s most savory question: whose cuisine reigns somewhat supreme? This is Aluminum Chef America! To any fans that happen to be lawyers, I tell you this: we have no Iron Chefs in this kitchen. We have only the physically and emotionally weak shells of broken men pitted against one another in a culinary battle for our sadistic pleasure. Let’s begin. This week, our judges are my marriage counselor, Becky from accounting, and an old pile of Crocs. Old Pile of Crocs: It’s truly an honor to be here. Also, I’m not a pile of Crocs, I’m Mario Batali, famous chef and restaurateur. Announcer: Thanks, old pile of Crocs. Now it’s time to introduce our very own aluminum chef! Music cuts out and a large drum is heard beating in an i̶r̶o̶n̶i̶c̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ aluminimunically tribal manner.
Announcer: Aluminum Chef Guy Fieri! Smattering of applause is heard.
Announcer: Allow me to introduce this week’s challenger. As a child, he was abandoned in a Cinnabon in Dayton, Ohio. He was raised by an old cinnamon bun for 30 years until he accidentally sold the pastry for a sweet $4.95. That day, he decided to forge his own destiny in the lukewarm blazes of the glaze machine. His bones are brittle from eating only sweets and his therapist says that he’s a ticking time bomb. Please welcome, Gerald Sullivan! Silence.
Gerald (tearfully): Thank you for having me. Announcer: Gerald, it’s time for you to pick which aluminum chef you shall face in a series of culinary battles and emotional crises. Gerald: But there is only one aluminum chef. Announcer (dramatically): But which shall you choose? Gerald: Ummm…ok. I choose… Guy Fieri! Guy Fieri is revealed from behind a tattered black curtain.
23
Guy Fieri: Welcome to flavor town! I have a minute to win it, good luck. Announcer: Actually, you have an hour. Guy Fieri: 60 seconds on the clock, good luck. Announcer: But there is one thing I have yet to reveal: our secret ingredient. Today’s secret ingredient is…. Guy Fieri and Gerald stare dramatically at a crusty tupperware as the aluminum foil is slowly peeled away.
Announcer: Guy Fieri’s Hair! Thunderous applause erupts from the audience. Guy Fieri stares in disbelief at the piles of his luscious and fragrant silver death spikes heaped inside the tupperware. Slowly his hands move upward, and he begins to caress his head. Realizing that he is Voldemort-level bald, he lets out an inhuman shriek and assumes the fetal position. One audience member collapses.
Harry Potter: My scar! Medics and aurors rush onto the scene, carrying Fieri and Potter out on stretchers.
Announcer: It seems we now have no aluminum chefs left to face our challenger. Gerald: So I win? Announcer: Of course not. Also, we have another surprise emotional crisis for you: We tracked down your biological father. Dramatic reveal
Father: I’m still glad I left. Announcer: That’s all the time we have for today. Join us next time on… Announcer raises his eyebrows and waves his hands about in an attempt to get the crowd to join him in saying the words “Aluminum Chef America,” but they are having none of his shit.
Announcer: Aluminum Chef America. —A. Ringlein
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FOOD NETWORK SHOWS THAT DIDN’T MAKE THE CUT Kraft Singles Presents Kraft Singles and a Microwave (Sponsored by Kraft Singles): Contestants get a single Kraft Singles brand cheese product slice and a microwave. Will they microwave it for 10 seconds? 20 seconds? 30 seconds? The possibilities are finite. Hangin’ Out with Mario Batali: You don’t have to cook or anything, we just need someone to hang out with Mario Batali. You could go shopping for orange Crocs, or watch a football game together. Please, he’s lonely. Caveman Cooking with Grog: Cook like the cavemen did! Dishes include: push an antelope onto a fire. Iron Chef, Hidden Dragon: The people have spoken, and we’ve listened: it’s just like Iron Chef, but with less cooking and more karate from the chairman.
CREATIVE USES FOR BANANAS As a pet. Bananas are like goldfish—yellow, quiet, and short-lived. As a speed bump. It works in Mario Kart, so… As an apple. Just disguised as a banana. As a pen. Works just as well as any dried-out ballpoint. As a clock. It’s always banana time. As a cookbook that tells you how to cook all of your exclusively banana recipes. As a fake blonde mustache. As art. A banana is worth a thousand words. As laundry detergent. For clothes that smell banana fresh. As natural male enhancement. As a slightly disobedient boomerang. Put it in a box and it’s a gift for someone special. —J. Rutter
Good Eatings with Alton Brown: Watch Alton Brown eat a chalupa for 30 minutes. Guy Fieri at Home: We’ve installed cameras in Guy Fieri’s house. Watch him eat, sleep, and—sometimes— cook. But mostly use hair gel. 30 Second Meals: For the busy (and lonely) chef. Meals include: pouring some of a box of cereal into a bowl, melting most of the cheese onto a plate of nachos, and opening a jar of pickles. Full of great tips, including how tears can make an excellent substitute for salt. Master Chef, Jr. Jr.: The contestants are babies. Soul Food with Paula Deen: Nope.
THINGS THAT TASTE BETTER WITH A SPRINKLE OF CINNAMON
A. Kinnane
—M. Kaplan and C. Rudeen Oatmeal Churros Honey, straight from the beehive Live sardines Gravel Lincoln Logs Cats Three lines of cocaine Grilled human flesh Fear A heaping bowl of cinnamon —A. Gertler
T he C ulinary I ssue
IN DEPTH: Yale to end food
25
What will be served under the new policy:
President Peter Salovey’s recent announcement that Yale College would begin to phase out food and dining halls in favor of charging stations has stirred immense controversy. We asked students, dining hall workers, and administrators what they thought of the planned changes.
How much food will be served under the new policy?
NO FOOD
SOME
FOOD
NONE
Your Thoughts
Fast facts Yesterday, Tesla Motors was awarded a $150 million contract to install charging stations around campus and perform compatibility operations on incoming human freshmen. Converted students will run on electricity and will be able to power themselves by plugging into any one of hundreds of charging stations around campus, eliminating the need to eat food. Changes will begin with the class of 2029, who will attend “Energy Workshops” during Freshman Orientation in which freshmen will be taught healthy charging habits and then anesthetized and operated on. In a new pamphlet, the Office of Student Life advised those having trouble adjusting to find alternatives to food-related activities, suggesting that rather than “grabbing a meal,” students consider “asking someone to get a meal but in a really obviously insincere way,” “asking someone to grab a meal but only in a metaphorical postmodern sense,” “asking someone to charge at the same station at an arranged time,” and “not having friends.”
“
I used to come in to work and make ravioli or chicken tenders. Two weeks ago I walked in and there’s no more oven, no dishes, just exercise bikes all in a row hooked up to a generator. Now I’m so fit I can chop carrots on my thighs, but I really miss the time I spent tenderly coating tofu in chimichurri sauce.” —Jun*, chef, Calhoun Dining Hall (*name changed)
“
The major motivation for this, I think, was the desire to get our endowment up to thirty-six point one billion dollars, which we liked because it was a nice square number.” —David Swensen, Chief Investment Officer
“ “
What.”
—Akhil Subraman ‘17
In the end, this is the best move for Yale. Students who insist on carbon-based sustenance may find other institutions of higher learning a better fit for their needs.” —Peter Salovey, President of Yale University
—L. Wang
FAILED FOOD COMBINATIONS Soose (soup + juice) – too many liquids Iceburger (ice + turkey burger) – too soul-crushingly disappointing Crap (crêpe + wrap) – the obvious reason Peabeegrats (peanut butter + bees + grass + cats) - delicious, but for some reason everyone is allergic to it Butter (Butchered roadkill + water) – too misleading Cronut (crocodile + donut) – too expensive/too many teeth/too endangered Cronut (Cro-Magnon remains + hazelnut) – too controversial/borderline cannibalistic/slightly dusty taste Denzel Washington (donut + Wenzel + Washington Apple cocktail) – actually a culinary masterpiece —N. Warren
T he Y ale R ecord
26
FOOD PUNS
OBSCURE COOKING TERMS DEFINED
A. Corcoran
LEAST PHALLIC FOODS Lasagna Flintstones Vitamins Gerber Baby food Babushka Olga’s beef tongue stew Paula Deen’s Uncle Tomato Soup Tofu molded in the shape of your mom’s head Roasted Kitten Bagels Aunt Gretchen’s not-slutty brownies Lead Paint —R. Lopez
Preheat the Oven—Turn on some Beyoncé and get that oven going! Deviled Eggs—What you call misbehaving eggs. Beat the Eggs—This one is rather old-fashioned; we suggest you instead put the eggs in time-out. Separate the Eggs—If the above time-out hasn’t worked and your eggs are still misbehaving, you now have to separate the eggs into different bowls, and chastise them briefly in your most commanding voice. Shuck—What you say when you realize that the eggs started misbehaving again as soon as you turned your back. Temper—How you feel as a result of those shucking eggs. Dress the chicken—The chicken is feeling uncomfortable with you staring at it so closely. Its eyes are up here, perv. Please give it some clothes. Chiffonade—Classier than chiffon—that chicken’s looking sexy now. Soufflé—The desire not to deflate your cake’s ego. May lead to coddling and overbearance. Flute—For when your pastry can’t quite handle the saxophone. Butter—Paula Dean is all up in this shit. I-Can’t-Believe-its-not-Butter—Paula Dean is not all up in this shit. Whip the Cream—A vaguely sexual reference. Stripper—An obvious sexual reference. Grind—At least you tried the stripper. Baker’s dozen—A singing group at Yale University. Knead—What can I say, a girl’s got kneads. Blanche—Veggie Tales meets A Streetcar Named Desire. Clarify—The above describes how vegetables are briefly dropped in boiling water and then plunged in ice water, in a similar manner to Blanche’s boiling sexual desires. Garlic Press—What we used to publish this issue. —N. Sanghvi and S. Sukin
T he C ulinary I ssue
RECIPE SUGGESTIONS FOR COLLEGE KIDS Use Natural Light instead of water in your Cup Noodles for a slimy, stale, salty treat. Use peanuts and butter instead of peanut butter to cut out the middleman. Substitute various pathogens for pizza toppings to show off your evolutionarily favorable immune system. Need to impress a date? Substitute a three-course meal of cucumber salad followed by fresh lobster with lemon and chocolate sponge cake for dessert, rather than your usual dinner of a dirty Hot Pocket. Coyotesbane works just as well as Wolfsbane for your Polyjuice Potion. Strapped for cash? Use paper napkins instead of twentydollar bills to clean up spills. Use “such as” instead of “like” in your writing for a more professional-sounding paper. Instead of letting your tears fall onto your pset that’s due tomorrow, collect them in your mug and use them to brew your coffee. Use Red Bull in place of tears when filtering your coffee grounds if you need an extra boost. Grind up Adderall instead of coffee beans if you have a serious problem. —J. Bentley and B. Wanke
A. Mansfield
BURRITOS WITH HANDS
27
A COMMONS ELF: A MEMOIR
D
obby is a small elf, and Dobby is a humble elf, and Dobby is always looking after all the students who come and go through the Commons. Even the nasty little children who stick their phlegmy hands right into the meals Dobby has lovingly made. Dobby cares for every child equally, but he regretfully concedes that some turds cannot be polished. Dobby is remembering one time a TD freshman entered the line for “American” “Cuisine” and he threw his grubby hands up in the air to complain, “Broccoli, squash, and olive oil again? Can’t we get some treacle tarts up in this bitch?” Dobby does not take to foul language, so he walked right up to that grimy imp and with a snap of his fingers whisked the urchin back to TD, or the Chamber of Secrets, one of the two. Dobby would never dare say anything mean about his masters, but he feels he must speak out against elf cruelty. Dobby used to be a free and happy elf, serving the little wizards and witches in Hogwarts’ Great Hall. The day before the last Halloween Feast at Hogwarts, Dobby was distributing chocolate frogs to the children, but one happened to be a Portkey, which whisked Dobby away to a scary nightclub in New Haven, CT. Dobby was being frightened and ran for his life, but the moment Dobby got outside a representative of University Properties captured him and sentenced him to life in the kitchen at the Commons. Dobby was a free elf no more. At Hogwarts, Dobby had a comfortable life, but everything has changed. After much conversation with the portrait of William H. Taft, Dobby was having a much better idea of his new muggle masters. Taft told Dobby these children were entitled little shits. Dobby understood very well, and ever since has been tainting the spa water and concocting meals that continue to baffle digestion. Why? Because Dobby is wanting to be a free elf. Dobby wishes for a sock. And until Dobby gets one, he will make sure the food tastes like one. —S. Gupta
28
TWO BABIES IN A TRENCH COAT TURN OUT TO BE THREE SLIGHTLY SMALLER BABIES IN A TRENCH COAT Dear Severus, I love your ripped bod and your hilarious, upbeat personality. Let’s totally get married! —Lily Potter, because this mixup won’t have any negative repercussions, right?
T he Y ale R ecord
Dear Cam Jansen, I am about to steal the class hamster in the midst of a typical school-day scene. Ideally you will not choose to remember this particular moment, since it is just one of the many possible moments you could choose to remember. As long as you don’t specifically decide to remember the next three seconds, I’ll be in the clear. Fingers crossed, Harold
Dear Harold, Click.
—Cam Jansen
SCIENTISTS SCRAMBLING TO ANSWER QUESTION ‘IF EVOLUTION IS SO AWESOME, WHY DON’T WE HAVE LASER BEAM ARMS?’
T he C ulinary I ssue
29
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30
T he Y ale R ecord Dear cops, Why do you limit yourselves to good cop and bad cop? There are so many unexplored possibilities. You could have a “silent cop” who just stands in the corner of the interrogation room and stares at the suspect. You could have a “sexy cop” who slowly removes his/her holster while saxophone music plays in the background. The cop-tions are virtually limitless. —A concerned citizen
“CANCER KILLS,” SAYS WOMAN WITH RABIES-INFECTED KOMODO DRAGON NAMED CANCER Dear Annie, Hey, how’s it going? You look great today, by the way. Mind if I sit here? Oh whoops, looks like I accidentally dropped some of my magnum-sized condoms. They fit really snuggly around my monster dong. Geez, I’m such a clutz, LOL. —Tyler Dawson-Holt PC ’16
SERIAL KILLER TARGETING NEWSPAPER REPORTERS MURDERS THREE IN OH MY GOD HE’S HERE, HE’S HERE RIGHT NOW SOMEONE PLEASE HELP OH MY GOD PLEASE PLEASE HELP CALL THE-
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$
22
NEW YORK
$
30
PHILADELPHIA
$
47
WASHINGTON, DC
$
65
This offer is valid for travel on the Northeast Regional train service only. Advance reservations are required a minimum of fourteen (14) days prior to travel. Once purchased, tickets are nonrefundable; exchanges are permitted within the ticket validity period. Blackouts apply on the following dates: 11/25/14–11/26/14, 11/29/14–11/30/14, and 12/19/14–12/21/14. Seating is limited; seats may not be available on all trains at all times. Fares are subject to availability. Up to 2 children ages 2–12 may accompany each adult at half the regular (full) adult rail fare. This offer is valid for Coach seats only; no upgrades permitted. This offer is not combinable with any other discount offer. In addition to the discount restrictions, this offer is also subject to any restrictions, blackouts, and refund rules that apply to the type of fare purchased. Fares, routes, and schedules are subject to change without notice. Once travel has begun, no changes to the itinerary are permitted. Other restrictions may apply. Amtrak and Northeast Regional are registered service marks of the National Railroad Passenger Corporation.